CHAPTER XXXIX. THRICE HAPPY BOY.
A man of the world at forty-five seldom feels surprised at anything, unless, indeed, like Molière, he encounters virtue in unexpected quarters. This, however, was a thing so extraordinary that Lord Jocelyn gasped.
"Pardon me, Miss Messenger," he said, recovering himself. "I was so totally unprepared for this—this discovery."
"Now that you have made it, Lord Jocelyn, may I ask you most earnestly to reveal it to no one? I mean no one at all."
"I understand perfectly. Yes, Miss Messenger, I will keep your secret. Since it is a secret, I will tell it to none. But I would ask a favor in return, if I may."
"What is that?"
"Take me further into your confidence. Let me know why you have done this most wonderful thing. I hope I am not impertinent in asking this of you."
"Not impertinent, certainly. And the thing must seem strange to you. And after what you told me some time ago, about——" She hesitated a moment, and then turned her clear brown eyes straight upon his face, "about your ward, perhaps some explanation is due to you."
"Thank you, beforehand."